men in balaclavas kick in our doors 
tearing passports long expired 

how will our days end 
in the streets searching 
for food past bombed-out 
barricades or welcoming 
death-by-drone 

we are prisoners of indecision 
unable to leave for if we do 
who will tend Eve’s garden 

where a sunlit snake uncurls 
its diamondback launching 
*****tiny grenades***** 
we never saw coming 

Bio: Roberta Beary